e. 


. 


THE 

**  ftp 

yyjEXTON'S     4^  ALE, 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 


THEODORE    TILTON. 


NEW  YORK: 
SHELDON     AND     COMPANY. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867, 
By  THEODORE  TILTON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  AT  THE 

BOSTON    STEREOTYPE    FOUNDRY, 
4  Spring  Lane. 


C.  3.  WESTCOTT  &  Co.,  Printers,  79  John  Street,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  SEXTON'S  TALE 7 

THE  GREAT  BELL  ROLAND 20 

THE  TRUE  CHURCH 27 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  NATURE 41 

THE  KING'S  RING 45 

THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP 49 

No  AND  YES 57 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  WIFE. 60 

THE  CLOUD  OF  WITNESSES 65 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  THE  CONVENT 70 

THE  FISHER'S  CHILD 74 

A  LAYMAN'S  CONFESSION  OF  FAITH.     .     .     .  Si 

THE  LOTUS  PLANTER 84 

THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS 88 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  SAILOR'S  WEDDING 92 

THE  VICTORY  OF  LIFE 94 

A  WOMAN'S  LETTER 103 

RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE 106 

PIERRE  CARDINAL'S  FAITH 109 

THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE in 

To  THE  BRIDE  ISABEL 116 

THE  MOTHER'S  PRAYER 120 

THE  BROKEN  Vow 125 

GOD  SAVE  THE  NATION 129 

THE  STRANGE  PREACHER  OF  PADUA.   .     .    .  131 

A  VACATION  HYMN 138 

FRIENDSHIP 141 

THE  HARP  OF  ANDREW  MARVELL 143 

DYING,  AND  YET  LIVING 147 

THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  NATIONS 149 

IN  MEMORIAM -151 

THE  MONK'S  MATIN 152 

MALTBY  CHAPEL 154 

THE  FLY 163 

THE  Two  HUNGRY  KITTENS 170 


POEMS. 


THE     SEXTON'S    TALE. 

SCEXE.—  An  old  English  Churchyard. 

PERSONS.  —  An  aged  Sexton  (formerly  a  Duke's  henchman) 

pointing  out  graves  to  a  Stranger. 
TIME.  —  Thirteenth  Century. 


KNIGHT,  sir,  from  the  Holy  Land 
Came  back  to  claim  my  Lady's  hand. 
[This  grave  is  his  where  now  we  stand.] 

ii. 

My  Lady's  sire,  the  Duke,  had  said 
The  Knight  and  she  should  never  wed. 
[How  thick  the  leaves  are  where  we  tread !] 

(7) 


8  THE  SEXTON'S    TALE. 

m. 

A  maid  who  knows  her  father's  will, 
And  weds  against  it,  comes  to  ill. 
[Stand  here  —  the  winter  wind  is  chill.] 

IV. 

Now  I,  for  one,  am  bold  to  say 

A  maid  should  have  her  will  and  way 

In  what  concerns  her  wedding-day. 

v. 

So  when  the  Duke  took  helm  and  lance, 
And  went  to  tournaments  in  France, 
My  Lady  saw  her  golden  chance. 

VI. 

If  once  the  holy  knot  were  tied, 
The  Duke,  nor  all  the  world  beside, 
Could  part  the  bridegroom  from  his  bride. 


THE  SEXTON'S   TALE.  9 

VII. 

Along  the  wedding-path  were  strown 
So  many  buds  and  roses  blown, 
Their  happy  feet  touched  not  a  stone. 

VIII. 

Now  how  it  came,  I  cannot  tell, 
But  never  such  ill-hap  befell 
The  ringing  of  a  wedding-bell. 

IX. 

For  while  the  priest  was  at  the  prayer, 
The  Duke  —  the  devil  knows  from  where  !  — 
Uprose  behind  the  married  pair ! 

x. 

One  faces  winter,  though  it  blows 

And  frosts  one's  breath,  —  and  so  we  rose 

And  faced  him,  though  our  pulses  froze ! 


io  THE  SEXTON'S   TALE. 

XI. 

The  Duke  had  sword,  and  shield,  and  squire  ; 
The  Knight  was  in  his  wedding-tire; 
They  fronted,  and  their  eyes  flashed  Sre ! 

XII. 

Then  turned  the  father  toward  his  child, 
And  touched  her  wedding-ring,  and  smiled. 
The  Duke  (wre  thought)  was  reconciled. 

XIII. 

Quoth  he,  "  My  daughter  and  my  son, 

Against  my  will  the  deed  is  done ; 

But  twain,  whom  God  hath  joined,  are  one. 

XIV. 

"  Now  follow  to  my  castle-hall ! 

Come,  old  and  young !  come,  great  and  small ! 

A  feast  awaiteth  one  and  all ! " 


THE   SEXTON'S    TALE.  n 

XV. 

It  was  a  lie  the  villain  told ! 

His  soul  was  to  the  devil  sold  ! 

\_Hic  jacct  —  here's  his  rotten  mould!] 

XVI. 

Thus  cheated  forward  to  their  fate, 
The  lovers  reached  the  castle-gate, 
Where,  hid  behind  it,  lay  in  wait 

XVII. 

Five  henchmen,  who  —  like  hounds  in  check, 
Yet  daring,  at  their  master's  beck, 
To  grip  a  lion  by  the  neck  — 

XVIII. 

Sprang  at  the  Knight,  and  girt  him  round, 
And  hurled  him  headlong  to  the  ground, 
And  held  him  like  a  lion  bound  ! 


12  THE  SEXTON'S   TALE. 

XIX. 

Then  cried  the  Duke  —  the  double-faced  ! 
"  Thy  wife  shall  be  a  virgin  chaste, 
And  never  in  thine  arms  embraced ! 

xx. 

"  This  wall  shall  thee  and  thine  divide, 
And  make  thee  bridegroom  to  a  bride 
Who  shall  not  slumber  at  thy  side  ! " 

XXI. 

The  Knight,  unhanded,  never  spoke, 
But  stood  as  dumb  as  when  an  oak 
Replies  not  to  the  thunder-stroke. 

XXII. 

I  watched  my  Lady's  color  fade ; 
She  fainted  to  a  ghostly  shade. 
And  lay  as  if  her  grave  were  made. 


THE   SEXTON'S    TALE.  13 

XXIII. 

Whereat  the  Duke  to  me  made  sign 
To  lift  her  with  these  arms  of  mine, 
And  bear  her  in,  and  give  her  wine. 

XXIV. 

I  raised  my  Lady,  all  aghast, 

And  loud  behind  me,  as  I  passed, 

The  gate  was  slammed,  and  bolted  fast. 

xxv. 

The  groom  without,   the  bride  within  !  — 
To  sunder  whom  was  mortal  sin  — 
For  wedded  hearts  are  more  than  kin. 

XXVI. 

[This  gust  blows  through  and  through  one's 

cloak : 

Just  step  in  shelter  of  this  oak.] 
Well,  when  at  last  my  Lady  spoke, 


14  THE   SEXTON'S    TALE. 

XXVII. 

She  gave  a  look  so  full  of  fright, 
And  wept  in  such  a  widowed  plight, 
My  soul  was  melted  at  the  sight. 

XXVIII. 

But  woman's  love  is  wondrous  strong; 
I  helped  to  right  my  Lady's  wrong ; 
I  shall  not  make  the  story  long. 

XXIX. 

On  Christmas  night,  the  castle-wall 
Was  hung  with  holly,  and  the  hall 
Was  thronged  with  guests  :  she  fled  them  all, 

XXX. 

And,  mutely  as  a  mouse  could  stir, 
To  me  came  down  in  hood  and  fur, 
And  asked,  Was  I  a  friend  to  her? 


THE   SEXTON'S    TALE.  15 

XXXI. 

I  made  obeisance  on  my  knee. 
"  May  Heaven  be  thy  reward ! "  said  she ; 
"  Unlock  the  gate,  and  set  me  free ! " 

XXXII. 

O,  when  is  ever  seen  or  heard 

Such  majesty  of  look  or  word 

As  when  a  woman's  soul  is  stirred ! 

XXXIII. 

While  there  she  stood  to  plead  her  case, 
She  bore  so  high  and  grand  a  grace, 
I  grew  abashed  before  her  face. 

XXXIV. 

I  durst  have  swung  that  castle-gate 
Wide  open  then,  had  Death  and  Fate 
Made  groans  if  any  hinge  should  grate ! 


16  THE   SEXTON'S    TALE. 

xxxv. 

I  slid  the  bolt  at  her  command, 
And  she  —  the  Lady  of  the  Land  !  — 
Caught  up  and  kissed  this  rough  old  hand ! 

XXXVI. 

I  heard  a  champing  horse  outside : 

The  bridegroom  waited  for  his  bride : 

"  God  speed,"  I  cried,  "  the  wedding-ride  ! " 

XXXVII. 

A  single  thing  I  hate  to  say : 

It  pricks  me  to  this  very  day: 

The  Knight  threw  back  his  purse  for  pay. 

XXXVIII. 

It  lies  there  yet,  for  aught  I  know ! 
The  hand  my  Lady  honored  so 
Disdained  to  lift  a  bribe  so  low. 


THE   SEXTON'S    TALE.  17 

xxxix. 

The  Duke  was  wroth,  but  never  knew 
Who  drew  the  bolt  to  let  her  through. 
[There,  that 's  my  Lady's,  next  to  you  !  ] 

XL. 

Ah,  well!    the  ways  of  God  are  right: 
My  Lady's  babe  was  born  at  night : 
My  Lady  died  at  morning-light. 

XLI. 

Sweet,  fragile  stalk !    that  grew  too  rare 
The  burden  of  its  bud  to  bear, 
And  broke  while  blossoming  so  fair ! 

XLII. 

In  one  white  sheet  they  both  were  dressed ; 
The  babe  was  placed  upon  her  breast ; 
And  so  we  laid  the  twain  to  rest. 
2 


iS  THE   SEXTON'S   TALE. 

XLIII. 

The  Knight,  heart-broken,  hardly  stayed 
Until  my  Lady's  mound  was  made, 

4 

But  joined  King  Richard's  great  crusade. 

XLIV. 

Three  summers  afterward,  one  morn, 
A  pilgrim,  pale  and  travel-worn, — 
And  in  his  hand  a  palm-branch  borne, — 

XLV. 

Walked  in  the  churchyard  here  alone, 
And  at  my  Lady's  grave,  moss-grown, 
Threw  down  the  trophy  on  the  stone  ; 

XLVI. 

Then  crossed  himself,  and  walked  away; 
And  just  a  month  from  that  same  clay, 
I  wrapped  a  shroud  about  his  clay. 


THE   SEXTON'S    TALE.  19 

XLVII. 

So  here's  the  bride,  and  there's  the  groom : 
But  come  and  see  my  Lady's  tomb 
When  summer  roses  are  in  bloom  : 

XLVIII. 

For  now  the  winter  wrongs  the  dead, 
To  plant  the  pillow  of  her  bed 
With  only  thorns  about  her  head. 

XLIX. 

The  groom  lies  parted  from  the  bride ; 
But  Life  and  Love,  that  here  divide, 
Are  joined  upon  the  other  side ! 


20         THE   GREAT  BELL  ROLAND. 


THE    GREAT    BELL    ROLAND.* 

SUGGESTED  BY  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  FIRST 
CALL  FOR  VOLUNTEERS. 


OLL  !  Roland,  toll ! 

In  old  St.  Bavon's  tower, 
At  midnight  hour, 
The  great  bell  Roland  spoke ; 
And  all  who  slept  in  Ghent  awoke. 


*The  famous  bell  Roland  of  Ghent,  as  Motley 
relates,  was  an  object  of  great  affection  to  the  peo 
ple,  because  it  rang  to  arm  them  when  Liberty  was 
in  danger. 


THE  GREAT  BELL  ROLAND.         21 

What  meant  the  thunder-stroke? 
Why  trembled  wife  and  maid? 
Why  caught  each  man  his  blade? 
Why  echoed  every  street 
With  tramp  of  thronging  feet, 

All  flying  to  the  city's  wall? 

It  was  the  warning  call 
That  Freedom  stood  in  peril  of  a  foe ! 
And  timid  hearts  grew  bold 
Whenever  Roland  tolled, 
And  every  hand  a  sword  could  hold, 
And  every  arm  could  bend  a  bow ! 

So  acted  men 

Like  patriots  then  — 
Three  hundred  years  ago  1  • 


I         THE   GREAT  BELL  ROLAND. 

II. 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
Bell  never  yet  was  hung, 
Between  whose  lips  there  swung 
So  grand  a  tongue ! 

If  men  be  patriots  still, 
At  thy  first  sound 
True  hearts  will  bound, 
Great  souls  will  thrill ! 
Then   toll,  and  let  thy   test 
Try  each  man's  breast, 
And  let  him   stand  confessed ! 

in. 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
Not  now  in  old  St.  Bavon's  tower  - 
Not  now  at  midnight  hour  — 


THE  GREAT  BELL  ROLAND.         23 

Not  now  from  River  Scheldt  to  Zuyder  Zee ; 
But  here  !  —  this  side  the  sea  !  — 
Toll   here,  in  broad,  bright  day ! 
For  not  by  night  awaits 
A  foe  without  the  gates, 
But  perjured  friends  within  betray, 
And  do  the  deed  at  noon  ! 

Toll !    Roland,  toll ! 
Thy  sound  is   not  too  soon  ! 
To  arms !    Ring  out  the  Leader's  call ! 

Toll!    Roland,  toll !  — 
Till   cottager  from   cottage-wall 

Snatch    pouch,    and    powder-horn,    and 

gun  — 

The  heritage  of  sire   to  son, 
Ere  half  of  Freedom's  work  wras  done ! 

Toll !    Roland,  toll !  — 
Till  swords  from  scabbards  leap ! 


24         THE   GREAT  BELL  ROLAND. 

Toll !    Roland,  toll ! 
What  tears  can   widows  weep 
Less  bitter  than  when  brave  men  fall? 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
In  shadowed  hut  and  hall 
Shall   lie  the  soldier's  pall, 

And   hearts    shall    break   while   graves 

are  filled ! 

Amen  !     So  God  hath  willed  ! 
And  may  His  grace  anoint  us  all! 

IV. 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
The  Dragon  on  thy  tower 
Stands  sentry  to  this  hour ; 

And  Freedom  now  is  safe  in  Ghent ; 
And  merrier  bells  now  ring; 


THE   GREAT  BELL  ROLAND.         25 

And  in  the  land's  serene  content, 
Men  shout,  "God  save  the  King!"  — 

Until  the  skies  are  rent ! 
So  let  it  be  !  — 
A  kingly  King  is  he 
Who  keeps  his  people  free ! 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
Ring  out  across  the  sea  ! 
No  longer  They,  but  We, 
Have  now  such  need  of  thee ! 

Toll!    Roland,  toll! 
Nor  ever  let  thy  throat 
Keep  dumb  its  warning  note 
Till  Freedom's  perils  be  outbraved ! 

Toll!    Roland,  toll !  — 
Till  Freedom's  flag,  wherever  waved, 
Shall  shadow  not  a  man  enslaved ! 


26         THE  GREAT  BELL  ROLAND. 

Toll!    Roland,  toll!  — 
From  Northern  lake  to  Southern  strand ! 

Toll !    Roland,  toll !  — 
Till  friend  and  foe,  at  thy  command, 
Shall  clasp  once  more  each  other's  hand, 
And  shout,  one-voiced,  "God  save  the  land  !" 
And  love  the  land  that  God  hath  saved  I 

Toll !    Roland,  toll ! 

APRIL  16,  1861. 


THE    TRUE    CHURCH. 

i. 

NE  Sabbath  morn  I  roamed   astray, 
asked  a  Pilgrim  for  the  way: 

"  O,  tell  me,  whither  shall  I  search, 
That  I  may  find  the  one  true  church?" 

He  answered,  "  Search  the  world  around ; 
The  one  true  church  is  never  found  ; 

u  Yon  ivy  on  the  abbey  wall 
Makes  fair  the  falsest  church  of  all." 


28  THE    TRUE   CHURCH. 


But  fearing  he  had  told  me  wrong, 
I  cried,  "  Behold  the  entering  throng ! 


He  answered,  "  If  a  church  be  true, 
It  hath  not  many,  but  a  few ! " 

Around  a  font  the  people  pressed, 

And  crossed  themselves  on  brow  and  breast. 

"A  cross  so  light  to  bear,"  he  cried, 
"  Is  not  of  Christ  the  Crucified  !  — 

"  Each  forehead,  frowning,  sheds  it  off: 
Christ's  cross  abides  through  scowl  and  scoff! " 

We  entered  at  the  open  door, 

And  saw  men  kneeling  on  the  floor ;  — 


THE    TRUE  CHURCH.  29 

Faint  candles,  by  the  daylight  dimmed, 
As  if  by  foolish  virgins  trimmed;  — 

Fair  statues  of  the  saints,  as  white 

As  now  their  robes  are,  in  God's  light ;  — 

Stained  windows,  casting  down  a  beam, 
Like  Jacob's  ladder  in  the  dream. 

The  Pilgrim  gazed  from  nave  to  roof, 
And,  frowning,  uttered  this  reproof:  — 

"  Alas  !   who  is  it  understands 

God's  temple  is  not  made  with  hands?" 


30  THE   TRUE   CHURCPL 


II. 

We  walked  in  ferns  so  wet  with  dew 
They  plashed  our  garments  trailing  through, 

And  came  upon  a  church  whose  dome 
Upheld  a  cross,  but  not  for  Rome. 

We  brushed  a  cobwreb  from  a  pane, 
And  watched  the  service  in  the  fane. 

"  Do  prayers,"  he  asked,  "  the  more  avail, 
If  offered  at  an  altar-rail  ? 

"  Does  water,  sprinkled  from  a  bowl, 
Wash  any  sin  from  any  soul? 


THE    TRUE   CHURCH.  31 

"  Do  tongues  that  taste  the  bread  and  wine 
Speak  truer  after  such  a  sign?" 

Just  then,  upon  a  maple  spray, 

Two  orioles  perched,  and  piped  a  lay,  — 

Until  the  gold  beneath  their  throats 
Shook  molten  in  their  mellow  notes. 

Resounding  from  the  church,  a  psalm 
Rolled,  quivering,  through  the  outer  calm. 

"  Both  choirs,"  said  I,  "  are  in  accord, 
For  both  give  praises  to  the  Lord." 

"  The  birds,"  he  answered,  "  chant  a  song 
Without  a  note  of  sin  or  wrong: 


32  THE    TRUE   CHURCH. 

"  The  church's  anthem  is  a  strain 
Of  human  guilt  and  mortal  pain." 

The  orioles  and  the  organ  ceased, 
And  in  the  pulpit  rose  the  priest. 

The  Pilgrim  whispered  in  my  ear, 
"  It  profits  not  to  tarry  here." 

"  He  speaks  no  error,"  answered  I ; 
"  He  teaches  that  the  living  die  ; 

"  The  dead  arise ;  and  both  are  true ; 
Both  wholesome  doctrines ;   neither  new." 

The  Pilgrim  said,  "  He  strikes  a  blow 
At  wTrongs  that  perished  long  ago  ; 


THE   TRUE   CHURCH.  33 

"But  covers  with  a  shielding  phrase 
The  living  sins  of  present  days." 

We  turned  away  among  the  tombs  — 
A  tangled  place  of  briers  and  blooms. 

I  spelled  the  legends  on  the  stones : 
Beneath  reposed  the  martyrs'  bones, — 

The  bodies  which  the  rack  once  brake 
In  witness  for  the  dear  Lord's  sake,  — 

The  ashes  gathered  from  the  pyres 

Of  saints  whose  souls  went  up  through  fires. 

The  Pilgrim  murmured  as  wre  passed, 
"  So  gained  they  all  the  crown  at  last. 
3 


34  THE   TRUE  CHURCH. 

"  Men  lose  it  now  through  looking  back 
To  find  it  at  the  stake  and  rack. 

"The  rack  and  stake  are  old  with  grime; 
God's  touchstone  is  the  living  time." 


in. 

We  passed  where  poplars,  gaunt  and  tall, 
Let  twice  their  length  of  shadow  fall. 

Then  rose  a  meeting-house  in  view, 
Of  bleached  and  weather-beaten  hue. 

Men  plain  of  garb  and  pure  of  heart 
Divided  church  and  world  apart. 


THE    TRUE  CHURCH.  35 

Nor  did  they  vex  the  silent  air 
With  any  sound  of  hymn  or  prayer. 

God's  ringer  to  their  lips  they  pressed, 
Till  each  man  kissed  it,  and  was  blessed. 

I  asked,  "  Is  this  the  true  church,  then?" 
He  answered,  "  Nay,  a  sect  of  men : 

"  And  sects,  that  lock  their  doors  in  pride, 
Shut  God  and  half  his  saints  outside. 

"  The  gates  of  Heaven,  the  Scriptures  say, 
Stand  open  wide  by  night  and  day : 

u  So  then,  to  enter,  is  there  need 
To  carry  key  of  church  or  creed?" 


36  THE   TRUE  CHURCH. 


IV. 

Still  following  where  the  highway  led, 
Till  elms  made  arches  overhead, 

We  saw  a  spire,  and  weathercock, 
And  snow-white  church  upon  a  rock,- 

A  rock  where,  centuries  before, 
Came  sea-tossed  pilgrims  to  the  shore. 

My  sandals  straightway  I  unbound, 
Because  the  place  was  holy  ground. 

I  cried,  "  One  church  at  last  I  find, 
That  fetters  not  the  human  mind." 


THE   TRUE  CHURCH.  37 

"  This  church,"  said  he,  "  is  like  the    rest ; 
For  ail  are  good,  but  none  is  best." 


v. 

Then  far  from  every  church  we  strayed  — 
Save  Nature's  pillared  aisles  of  shade. 

The  squirrels  ran  to  see  us  pass, 

And  God's  sweet  breath  was  on  the  grass. 

I  challenged  all  the  creeds,  and  sought 
What  truth,  or  lie,  or  both,  they  taught. 

I  asked,  "Had  Augustine  a  fault?" 

The  Pilgrim  gazed  at  Heaven's  high  vault, 


38  THE   TRUE   CHURCH. 

And  answered,  "  Can  a  mortal  eye 
Contain  the  sphere  of  all  the  sky?" 

I  said,  "  The  circle  is  too  wide." 
"  God's  truth  is  wider !  "   he  replied. 

"  Though  Augustine  was  on  his  knee, 
He  saw  how  little  he  could  see ; 

"  Though  Luther  sought  with  burning  heart, 
He  caught  the  glory  but  in  part; 

"Though  Calvin  opened  wide  his  soul, 
He  comprehended  not  the  whole. 

"  Not  Luther,  Calvin,  Augustine 
Saw  visions  such  as  I  have  seen." 


THE    TRUE  CHURCH.  39 

While  yet  he  spake,  a  rapture  stole 
Through  all  my  body  and  my  soul. 

I  looked  upon  his  holy  brow, 
Entreating,  "Tell  me,  who  art  THOU?" 

But  such  a  splendor  filled  the  place, 
I  knew  it  was  the  Lord's  own  face ! 

I  was  a  sinner,  and  afraid ! 

I  knelt  in  dust,  and  thus  I  prayed :  — 

"  O  Christ  the  Lord !  end  Thou  my  search, 
And  lead  me  to  the  one  true  church." 

He  spake  as  never  man  may  speak, — 

"  The  one  true  church  thou  shalt  not  seek : 


4o 


THE   TRUE  CHURCH. 


"  Seek  thou,  forevermore,  instead, 

To  find  the  one  true  Christ,  its  Head ! " 

The  Lord  then  vanished  from  my  sight, 
And  left  me  standing  in  the  light. 


THE  MTSTERT  OF  NATURE.        41 


THE    MYSTERY  OF    NATURE. 


HE  works  of  God  are  fair  for  nought 

Unless  our  eyes,  in  seeing, 
See,  hidden  in  the  thing,  the  thought 
That  animates  its  being. 


n. 

The  outward  form  is  not  the  whole, 
But  every  part  is  moulded 

To  image  forth  an  inward  soul 
That  dimly  is  unfolded. 


42         THE  MTSTERT  OF  NATURE. 

III. 

The  shadow,  pictured  in  the  lake 
By  every  tree  that  trembles, 

Is  cast  for  more  than  just  the  sake 
Of  that  which  it  resembles. 

IV. 

The  dew  falls  nightly,  not  alone 
Because  the  meadows  need  it, 

But  hath  an  errand  of  its  own 
To  human  souls  that  heed  it. 

v. 

The  stars  are  lighted  in  the  skies 
Not  merely  for  their  shining, 

But,  like  the  looks  of  loving  eyes, 
Have   meanings   worth  divining. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  NATURE.        43 

VI. 

The  waves  that  moan  along  the  shore, 
The  winds  that  sigh  in  blowing, 

Are  sent  to  teach  a  mystic  lore 
Which  men  are  wise  in  knowing. 

VII. 

The  clouds  around  the  mountain  peak, 

The  rivers  in  their  winding, 
Have  secrets  which,  to  all  who  seek, 

Are  precious  in  the  finding. 

VIII. 

Thus  Nature  dwells  within  our  reach, 
But,  though  we  stand  so  near  her, 

We  still  interpret  half  her  speech 
With  ears  too  dull  to  hear  her. 


44         THE   MTSTERT   OF  NATURE. 

IX. 

Whoever,   at  the  coarsest  sound, 

Still  listens  for  the  finest, 
Shall  hear  the  noisy  world  go  round 

To  music  the  divinest. 

x. 

Whoever  yearns  to  see  aright 
Because  his  heart  is  tender, 

Shall  catch  a  glimpse  of  heavenly  light 
In  every  earthly  splendor. 

XI. 

So,  since  the  universe  began, 

And  till  it  shall  be  ended, 
The  soul  of  Nature,  soul  of  Man, 

And  soul  of  God  are  blended ! 


THE   KING'S  RING.  45 


THE    KING'S    RING. 


y 

NCE  in  Persia  reigned  a  King, 

Who   upon  his  signet  ring 
Graved  a  maxim  true  and  wise, 
Which,  if  held  before  his  eyes, 
Gave  him  counsel,  at  a  glance, 
Fit  for  every  change  or  chance : 
Solemn  words,  and  these  are  they 
"  Even  this  shall  pass  away ! " 


46  THE  KING'S  RING. 

II. 

Trains  of  camels  through  the  sand 
Brought  him  gems  from  Samarcand  ; 
Fleets  of  galleys  through  the  seas 
Brought  him  pearls  to  rival  these. 
But  he   counted  little  gain 
Treasures  of  the  mine  or  main. 
"  What  is  wealth?  "  the  King  would  say  ; 
"'Even  this  shall  pass  away.'" 

in. 

In  the  revels  of  his  court, 
At  the  zenith  of  the  sport, 
When   the  palms  of  all  his  guests 
Burned  with   clapping  at  his  jests, 
He,  amid  his  figs  and  wine, 
Cried,  "  O   loving  friends  of  mine ! 
Pleasure  comes,  but  not  to  stay : 
'  Even  this  shall  pass  away.' " 


THE  KING'S  RING.  47 

IV. 

Lady  fairest  ever  seen 
Was  the  bride  he  crowned  his  queen. 
Pillowed  on  the  marriage-bed, 
Whispering  to   his   soul,   he   said, 
"  Though   a  bridegroom  never  pressed 
Dearer  bosom  to  his  breast, 
Mortal  flesh  must  come  to  clay : 
4  Even  this  shall  pass  away.' " 

v. 

Fighting  on   a  furious  field, 
Once  a  javelin  pierced  his  shield. 
Soldiers  with  a  loud  lament 
Bore  him  bleeding  to  his  tent. 
Groaning  from  his  tortured  side, 
"  Pain  is  hard  to  bear,"  he  cried, 
"  But  with   patience  day  by  day, 
*  Even  this  shall   pass  away.'  " 


48  THE  KING'S  RING. 

VI. 

Towering  in  the  public  square 
Twenty  cubits  in  the  air, 
Rose  his  statue  carved   in  stone. 
Then  the  King,  disguised,  unknown, 
Gazing  at  his  sculptured  name, 
Asked  himself,   "And  what  is  fame? 
Fame  is  but  a  slow  decay : 
'Even   this  shall  pass  away.'" 

VII. 

Struck  with  palsy,  sere  and  old, 
Waiting  at  the  Gates   of  Gold, 
vSpake  he  with   his  dying  breath, 
"Life  is  clone,  but  what  is  Death?" 
Then,  in  answer  to   the  King, 
Fell  a  sunbeam   on   his   ring, 
Showing  by  a  heavenly  ray  — 
"  Even  this  shall   pass   away." 


THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP.         49 


THE    PARSON'S    COURTSHIP. 


HE  story,  as  I  heard  it  told, 

I  fashion  into  idle  rhyme, 
To  show  that,  though  the  heart  grows  old, 
Yet  love  abides  in  golden  prime. 


ii. 

An  aged  parson,  on  his  mare, 

Was  riding  where  his  heart  inclined, 

Yet  wore  a  sober  look  and  air, 
As  one  who  had  a  troubled  mind. 
4 


50         THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP. 

m. 

For,  when  he  passed  the  graveyard  gate, 
His  eyes  grew  dim  with  sudden  tears 

Iji  looking  at  a  slab  of  slate, 

Where  lay  his  wife  of  other  years. 

IV. 

She,  dying,  said  it  wronged  the  dead 
To  make  a  wedding  on  a  grave : 

The  words  kept  ringing  in  his  head, 
And  great  bewilderment  they  gave. 

v. 

He  longed  to  make  a  second  choice, 
For  every  Sunday  in  the  choir 

He  heard  the  Widow  Churchill's  voice, 
Until  she  grew  his  heart's  desire. 


THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP.         51 

VI. 

The  parson's  passion,  unconfcssed, 

Like  smouldered  heat  within  him  burned, 

Which  never  once  the  widow  guessed, 
Or  haply  it  had  been  returned. 

VII. 

With  hazel  branch  the  mare  was  switched, 
And  cantered  down  the  winding  road, 

And  underneath  a  tree  was  hitched, 
At  Captain  Churchill's  old  abode. 

VIII. 

The  dame  was  busy  sifting  flour, 
Nor  heard  the  comer  till  he  said, 

u  Be  praise  to  that  Almighty  Power 
Who  giveth  man  his  daily  bread  ! " 


52         THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP. 

IX. 

The  widow  —  caught  by  such  a  guest 
In  just  her  linsey-woolsey  gown, 

Instead  of  in  her  Sunday  best  — 

Dropped  bashfully  her  eyelids  down. 

x. 

Then  spake  her  suitor  to  her  face  — 
"  I  have  a  solemn  word  to  say, 

Whereto  is  need  of  heavenly  grace ; 
So,  Widow  Churchill,  let  us  pray ! " 

XI. 

Devoutly  did  the  couple  kneel  — 
The  parson  at  the  rocking-chair, 

The  widow  at  the  spinning-wheel  — 
And  this  the  burden  of  the  prayer :  — 


THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP.         53 

XII. 

He  mourned  for  uncommitted  sin, 
Implored  a  grace  on  all  mankind, 

And  asked  that  love  might  enter  in 
And  sweetly  move  the  widow's  mind. 

XIII. 

Uprising  from  his  prayerful  knees, 
"  I  seek  a  wife,"  the  parson  said, 

"  And,  finding  thee,  if  God  shall  please, 
Nor  thou  deny,  then  let  us  wed ! " 


The  widow  started  with  surprise 
(For  women  old  are  women  still), 

And  answered,  lifting  not  her  eyes, 
"  I  seek  to  do  the  heavenly  will." 


54         THE  PARSON'S   COURTSHIP. 

XV. 

The  heavenly  will  was  plain  indeed, 
And  pointed  to  the  flowery  yoke, 

For  love  is  not  the  human  need 
Of  young  alone,  but  aged  folk. 

XVI. 

One  day,  when  asters  were  in  bloom, 
There  came  a  throng  from  far  and  near, 

To  wish  the  joy  of  bride  and  groom, 
And  eat  and  drink  the  wedding-cheer. 

XVII. 

That  night,  beside  the  bridal  bed, 
Up  spoke  the  bride  in  tender  tone, 

u  I  hold  a  message  from  the  dead, 

And  time  has  come  to  make  it  known  : 


THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP.         55 
XVIII. 

"  The  years  are  twelve,  this  very  day, 
Since  she  whose  title  now  is  mine, 

The  night  before  she  passed  away, 

Bequeathed  to  me  this  written  line :  — 

XIX. 

"  '  To  thee,  O  friend  of  all  my  life, 
I  vow  before  my  strength  be  spent, 

That  should  he  wed  another  wife, 
If  thou  art  she,  I  rest  content.' " 

xx. 

He  gazed  upon  the  well-known  hand, 
Thought  backward  of  the  bygone  years, 

Thought  forward  of  the  heavenly  land, 
And  answered  not  a  word  for  tears. 


56         THE  PARSON'S  COURTSHIP. 


XXI. 


A  hallowed  honeymoon  they  passed, 
And  both  grew  young  in  growing  old 

Till,  sweetly  fading  out  at  last, 

They  left  the  tale  that  I  have  told. 


NO  AND    TES.  57 


NO    AND    YES. 


I. 

WATCHED  her  at  her  spinning, 
And  this  was  my  beginning 
Of  wooing  and  of  winning. 

n. 

So  cruel,  so  uncaring, 
So  scornful  was  her  bearing, 
She  set  me  half  despairing. 

in. 

Yet  sorry  wit  one  uses, 
Who  loves,  and  thinks  he  loses 
Because  a  maid  refuses. 


58  NO  AND    TES. 

IV. 

Love  prospers  in  the  making 

By  help  of  all  its  aching, 

And  quaking,  and  heart-breaking. 

v. 

A  woman's  first  denying 
Betokens  her  complying 
Upon  a  second  trying. 

VI. 

When  first  I  said  in  pleading, 

"  Behold,  my  love  lies  bleeding  !  "  - 

She  shook  her  head  unheeding. 

VII. 

But  when  again  I  told  her, 
And  blamed  her  growing  colder, 
She  dropped  against  my  shoulder. 


NO  AND    YES.  59 

VIII. 

Then,  with  her  eyes  of  splendor, 
She  gave  a  look  so  tender, 
I  knew  she  would  surrender ! 

IX. 

So  down  the  lane  I  led  her, 

And  while  her  cheek  grew  redder, 

I  sued  outright  to  wed  her. 

x. 

Good  end  from  bad  beginning ! 
My  wooing  came  to  winning ! 
And  still  I  watch  her  spinning ! 


60  THE    CAPTAIN'S     WIFE. 


THE    CAPTAIN'S    WIFE. 


gathered  roses,  Blanche  and  I,  for 

little  Madge  one  morning : 
"  Like   every  soldier's  wife,"  said    Blanche, 

"I  dread  a  soldier's  fate." 
Her  voice  a  little  trembled  then,   as   under 

some  forewarning. 

A  soldier  galloped  up  the  lane,  and  halted 
at  the  gate. 

II. 

"Which    house    is    Malcolm    Blake's?"    he 
cried  ;  "  a  letter  for  his  sister  !  " 


THE    CAPTAIN'S     WIFE.  61 

And  when  I  thanked  him,  Blanche  inquired, 
"But  none  for  me,  his  wife?" 

The  soldier  played  with  Madge's  curls,  and, 
stooping  over,  kissed  her : 

"  Your  father  was  my  captain,  child  !  —  I 
loved  him  as  my  life !  " 


in. 

Then  suddenly  he  galloped  oft',  and  left  the 

rest  unspoken. 
I    burst    the    seal,   and    Blanche    exclaimed, 

"What  makes  you  tremble  so?" 
What   answer    did   I   dare  to   make?     How 

should  the  news  be  broken? 
I  could  not  shield  her  from  the  stroke,  yet 

tried  to  ease  the  blow. 


62  THE    CAPTAIN'S    WIFE. 

IV. 

"  A   battle    in    the   swamps,"   I  said ;    "  our 

men  were  brave,  but  lost  it." 
And,  pausing  there,  —  "The  note,"  I  said, 

"  is  not  in  Malcolm's  hand." 
And  first  a  flush  flamed  through  her  face, 

and  then  a  shadow  crossed  it : 
"Read    quick,    dear    May!  — read    all,    I 

pray  !  —  and  let  me  understand  !  " 

v. 

I  did  not  read  it  as  it  stood,  but  tempered 

so  the  phrases 
As    not   at   first   to    hint   the   worst,  —  kept 

back  the  fatal  word, 
And    half    retold    his    gallant    charge,    his 

shout,  his  comrades'  praises, — 
Till,  like  a  statue  carved  in  stone,  she  neither 

spoke  nor  stirred ! 


THE    CAPTAIN'S     WIFE.  63 

VI. 

O,  never  yet  a  woman's  heart  was  frozen  so 

completely !  — 
So    unbaptized    with    helping    tears !  —  so 

passionless  and  dumb ! 
Spell-bound   she  stood,  and   motionless,   till 

little  Madge  said  sweetly, 
"Dear  mother,  is  the  battle  done?  and  will 

my  father  come?" 

VII. 

I  laid  my  hand  on  Madge's  lips,  and  led  her 

to  her  playing. 
Poor  Blanche !  the  winter  in  her  cheek  was 

snowy  like  her  name ! 
What  could  she  do  but  kneel,  and  pray,  and 

linger  at  her  praying? 
O    Christ !     when    other    heroes    die,    moan 

other  wives  the  same? 


64  THE    CAPTAIN'S    WIFE. 

VIII. 

Must   other   women's    hearts   yet   break,    to 

keep  the  Cause  from  failing? 
God  pity  our  brave   lovers  then,  who  face 

the  battle's  blaze! 
And  pity  wives  in  widowhood !  —  But  is  it 

unavailing? 
O  Lord  !  give  Freedom  first,  then  Peace  !  — 

and  unto  Thee  be  praise ! 


THE    CLOUD    OF    WITNESSES. 


THE   CLOUD   OF  WITNESSES. 

"Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits?" 
I. 

LEANED  upon  a  burial  urn, 
•JJ       And  thought  how  life  is  but  a  da}7, 
And  how  the  nations,  each  in  turn, 
Have  lived  and  passed  away. 

ii. 

The  earth  is  peopled  with  the  dead, 
Who  live  again  in  deathless  hosts, 

And  come  and  go  with  noiseless  tread  — 
A  universe  of  ghosts. 

5 


66        THE    CLOUD    OF    WITNESSES. 

III. 

They  follow  after  flying  ships, 

They  flicker  through  the  city's  marts, 

They  hear  the  cry  of  human  lips  — 
The  beat  of  human  hearts. 

IV. 

They  linger  not  around  their  tombs, 
But  far  from  churchyards  keep  aloof, 

To  dwell  in  old  familiar  rooms 
Beneath  the  household  roof. 


They  waken  men  at  morning  light, 
They  cheer  them  in  their  daily  care, 

They  bring  a  weary  world  at  night 
To  bend  the  knee  in  prayer. 


THE   CLOUD    OF    WITNESSES.       67 

VI. 

Their  errand  is  of  God  assigned 
To  comfort  sorrow  till  it  cease, 

And  in  the  dark  and  troubled  mind 
To  light  the  lamp  of  peace. 

VII. 

There  is  a  language,  whispered  low, 
Whereby  to  mortal  ears  they  speak, 

To  which  we  answer  by  a  glow 
That  kindles  in  the  cheek. 

VIII. 

Dear  shadows,  fairer  than  the  day, 

With  heavenly  light  they  wrap  us  round, 

Wherein  we  walk  a  gilded  way, 
And  over  holy  ground. 


68        THE    CLOUD    OF    WITNESSES. 

IX. 

O,  what  a  wondrous  life  is  theirs !  — 
To  fling  away  the  mortal  frame, 

Yet  keep  the  human  loves,  and  cares, 
And  yearnings  still  the  same ! 

x. 

O,  what  a  wondrous  life  is  ours!  — 
To  dwell  within  this  earthly  range, 

Yet  parley  with  the  heavenly  powers  — 
Two  worlds  in  interchange ! 

XI. 

O,  balm  of  grief !  —  to  understand 

That  whom  our  eyes  behold  no  more 

Still  clasp  us  with  as  true  a  hand 
As  in  the  flesh  before ! 


THE   CLOUD    OF    WITNESSES.       69 

XII. 

No  longer  in  a  gloom  profound 

Let  Memory,  like  a  mourner  craped,  - 

Sit  weeping  by  an  empty  mound 
Whose  captive  hath  escaped ! 

XIII. 

So,  turning  from  the  burial  urn, 

I  thought  how  life  has  double  worth, 

If  men  be  only  wise  to  learn 
That  heaven  is  on  the  earth. 


!   1 


70      FLIGHT  FROM  THE  CONVENT. 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  THE   CON 
VENT. 

i. 

*,~ 

SEE  the  star-lights  quiver, 

Like  jewels  in  the  river ; 
The  bank  is  hid  with  sedge ; 
What  if  I  slip  the  edge? 

I  thought  I  knew  the  way 
By  night  as  well  as  day: 
How  soon  a  lover  goes  astray  ! 

ii. 

The  place  is  somewhat  lonely  — 
I  mean,  for  just  one  only. 
I  brought  the  boat  ashore 
An  hour  ago,  or  more. 

Well,  I  will  sit  and  wait ; 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  CONVENT.      71 

She  fixed  the  hour  at  eight : 
Good  angels !    bring  her  not  too  late ! 

in. 

To-morrow's  tongues  that  name  her 
Will  hardly  dare  to  blame  her: 
A  lily  still  is  white 
Through  all  the  dark  of  night : 

The  morning  sun  shall  show 
A  bride  as  pure  as  snow, 
Whose  wedding  all  the  world  shall  know. 

IV, 

O  God!    that  I  should  gain  her! 
But  what  can  so  detain  her? 
Hist,  yelping  cur  !  thy  bark 
Will  fright  her  in  the  dark. 

What!  striking  nine?  that's  fast! 

Is  some  one  walking  past? 
Oho !    so  thou  art  come  at  last ! 


72      FLIGHT  FROM  THE  CONVENT. 


Now,  why  thy  long  delaying? 

Alack !    thy  beads  and  praying ! 

If  thou,  a  saint,  dost  hope 

To  kneel  and  kiss  the  Pope, 
Then  I,  a  sinner,  know 
Where  sweeter  kisses  grow  — 
Nay,  now,  just  once  before  we  go! 

VI. 

Nay,  twice,  and  by  St.  Peter 
The  second  was  the  sweeter! 
Quick,  now,  and  in  the  boat ! 
Good  by,  old  tower  and  moat! 
May  mildew  from  the  sky 
Drop  blindness  on  the  eye 
That  lurks  to  watch  our  going  by! 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  CONVENT. 

VII. 

O  saintly  maid  !   I  told  thee 
No  convent  walls  should  hold  thee. 
Look !    yonder  comes  the  moon  ! 
We  started  not  too  soon. 

See  how  we  pass  that  mill ! 

What !    is  the  night  too  chill  ? 
Then  I  must  fold  thee  closer  still ! 


74  THE  FISHER'S    CHILD. 


THE    FISHER'S    CHILD. 

•f 


WEAVE  a  tale  of  old  and  new ; 

The  half  a  fact,  the  rest  a  dream  ; 
Yet  many  dreams  are  wondrous  true, 
However  strange  they  seem. 

II. 

So  silent  was  the  summer  day, 

That  one  could  hear  the  far-off  bees, 

Till  winds  from  over  fields  of  hay 
Came  down  to  rough  the  seas. 


THE  FISHER'S   CHILD.  75 

III. 

A  fisher  brought  his  nets  to  land, 
And  just  above  the  water's  reach 

Drew  out  his  boat  upon  the  sand, 
And  hurried  from  the  beach. 


IV. 

Along  a  reedy  water-edge, 

His  little  son  ran  up  and  down, 

And,  breaking  off  the  spears  of  sedge, 
Entwined  them  for  a  crown. 

v. 

Now,  when  the  urchin  spied  the  craft, 
He  clambered  up  the  side  in  glee, 

And  tossed  his  laurelled  head,  and  laughed, 
And  wished  himself  at  sea. 


76  THE  FISHER'S    CHILD. 

VI. 

The  boat,  amid  the  watery  roar, 
Was  like  a  warning  ringer,  laid 

Across  the  lips  of  sea  and  shore, 
To  hush  the  noise  they  made. 

VII. 

A  breaker,  with  a  headlong  swell, 
Ran  up  around  it  where  it  lay, 

And  rolled  so  high  that  when  it  fell 
It  launched  the  boat  away. 

VIII. 

The  poplar  trees  grew  tall  and  green 
Between  the  fisher  and  the  tide, 

And  sadder  sight  was  never  seen 
Than  there  they  stood  to  hide. 


THE  FISHER'S  CHILD.  77 

IX. 

By  rushing  winds,  the  drifting  hull 
Was  blown  beyond  the  harbor-light, 

Till,  seaward,  like  a  flying  gull, 
It  dwindled  out  of  sight. 

x. 

The  father  never  called  his  child 
Until  the  west  was  all  aflame, 

And  then,  except  an  echo  wild, 
No  voice  in  answer  came. 

XI. 

Whereat,  as  with  a  giant's  hand, 
The  frantic  fisher  seized  a  boat, 

And  dragged  it  down  the  griping  sand, 
And  through  the  surf  afloat. 


78  THE  FISHER'S  CHILD. 

XII. 

He  pulled  his  oars  for  thrice  a  league, 
And  down  his  brawny  beard  ran  sweat, 

But  not  a  sinew  felt  fatigue, 
For  hope  inspired  him  yet. 

XIII. 

The  mantle  of  the  night  was  dark, 
Wherein  his  eyes  were  folded  blind, 

And  so  he  chased  the  truant  bark, 
To  seek,  but  not  to  find. 

XIV. 

At  last  his  strength  was  overspent, 
And  down  against  his  panting  breast 

His  hot,  bewildered  head  he  bent, 
And  swooned,  and  lay  at  rest. 


THE  FISHER'S  CHILD.  79 

XV. 

He  dreamed  that  through  a  yawning  wave 
A  child,  with  sea-grass  on  his  head, 

Went  down  within  a  boundless  grave, 
To  wander  with  the  dead : 

XVI. 

Thence  rising  to  a  wondrous  land, 
The  human  creature  grew  divine : 

And  when  the  fisher  waved  his  hand, 
The  child  gave  back  a  sign. 

XVII. 

The  dreamer  woke  with  sudden  start, 
And,  shuddering  in  the  chilly  dew, 

Knew  well,  by  token  in  his  heart, 
The  vision  must  be  true. 


So  THE  FI SPIER'S   CHILD. 

XVIII. 

In  sorrow  homeward  he  returned, 
And  sank  aweary  in  his  chair, 

And,  gazing  where  the  embers  burned, 
Beheld  an  angel  there  ! 

XIX. 

And  in  the  old  familiar  place 

Which  on  the  earth  it  loved  the  best, 
A  figure  with  a  shining  face 

Is  still  the  fisher's  guest. 

xx. 

O,  pleasantest  of  mortal  things !  — 
That  angels  dwell  in  homes  on  earth, 

Where  silently,  with  folded  wings, 
They  tarry  by  the  hearth  ! 


CONFESSION  OF  FAITH.  Si 


A    LAYMAN'S     CONFESSION 
OF    FAITH. 


.S  other  men  have  creeds,  so  I  have 

mine : 

I  keep  the  holy  faith  in  God,  in  man, 
And  in  the  angels  ministrant  between. 

I  hold  to  one  true  church  of  all  true  souls ; 
Whose  churchly  seal   is  neither  bread,   nor 

wine, 

Nor  laying  on  of  hands,  nor  holy  oil, 
But  only  the  anointing  of  God's  grace. 

I  hate  all  kings,  and  caste,  and  rank  of  birth  : 
For  all  the  sons  of  men  are  sons  of  God  ; 
6 


82  CONFESSION  OF  FAITPL 

Nor  limps  a  beggar  but  is  nobly  born ; 
Nor  wears  a  slave  a  yoke,  nor  czar  a  crown, 
That  makes  him  less  or  more  than  just  a 
man. 

I  love  my  country  and  her  righteous  cause : 
So  dare  I  not  keep  silent  of  her  sin ; 
And    after    Freedom,    may    her    bells    ring 
Peace ! 

I  love  one  woman  with  a  holy  fire, 
Whom  I  revere  as  priestess  of  my  house ; 
I    stand    with    wondering    awe    before    my 

babes, 

Till  they  rebuke  me  to  a  nobler  life ; 
I  keep  a  faithful  friendship  with  my  friend, 
Whom  loyally  I  serve  before  myself; 
I  lock  my  lips  too  close  to  speak  a  lie ; 


CONFESSION  OF  FAITH.  83 

I  wash  my  hands  too  white  to  touch  a  bribe ; 
I  owe  no  man  a  debt  I  cannot  pay  — 
Except    the   love    that    men    should    always 
owe. 

Withal,  each  day,  before  the  blessed  Heaven, 
I  open  wide  the  chambers  of  my  soul, 
And  pray  the  Holy  Ghost  to  enter  in. 

Thus  reads  the  fair  confession  of  my  faith, 
So  crossed  with  contradictions  by  my  life, 
That  now  may  God  forgive  the  written  lie ! 
Yet  still,  by  help  of  Him  who  helpeth  men, 
I  face  two  worlds,  and  fear  not  life  nor  death  ! 
O  Father !  lead  me  by  Thy  hand !  Amen. 

18G2. 


84  THE  LOTUS  PLANTER. 


THE     LOTUS    PLANTER. 


BRAHMIN  on  a  lotus  pod 

Once  wrote  the  holy  name  of  God. 


II. 

Then,  planting  it,  he  asked  in  prayer 
For  some  new  fruit,  unknown  and  fair. 


in. 

A  slave  near  by,  who  bore  a  load, 
Fell  fainting  on  the  dusty  road. 


THE  LOTUS  PLANTER.  85 


IV. 


The  Brahmin,  pitying,  straightway  ran 
And  lifted  up  the  fallen  man. 


v. 


The  deed  scarce  done,  he  looked  aghast 
At  touching  one  beneath  his  caste. 


VI. 


"  Behold  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  stand  unclean  : 
My  hands  have  clasped  the  vile  and  mean  ! 


VII. 


God  saw  the  shadow  on  his  face, 
And  wrought  a  miracle  of  grace. 


86  THE  LOTUS  PLANTER. 

VIII. 

The  buried  seed  arose  from  death, 
And  bloomed  and  fruited  at  His  breath, 


IX. 

The  stalk  bore  up  a  leaf  of  green, 
Whereon  these  mystic  words  were  seen :  — 

x. 

FIRST  COUNT  MEN  ALL  OF  EQUAL  CASTE  ; 
THEN    COUNT    THYSELF    THE    LEAST   AND 
LAST. 

XI. 

The  Brahmin,  with  bewildered  brain, 
Beheld  the  will  of  God  writ  plain  ! 


THE  LOTUS  PLANTER. 


XII. 


Transfigured  in  a  sudden  light, 
The  slave  stood  sacred  in  his  sight. 


XIII. 

Thenceforth  within  the  Brahmin's  mind 
Abode  good  will  for  all  mankind. 


88  THE    CROWN  OF  THORNS. 


THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS. 

i. 

HY  head  was  crowned  with  thorns 
What  crown  shall  be  for  mine? 
Are  there  for  me  no  scoffs,  no  scorns, 
Since  only  such  were  Thine? 


II. 

Or,  having  named  Thy  name, 

Shall  I  no  burden  take? 
And  is  there  left  no  wound,  no  shame, 

To  suffer  for  Thy  sake? 


THE    CROWN  OF  THORNS.  89 

III. 

Unscourged  of  any  whip, 

Unpierced  of  any  sting,  — 
O  Christ,  how  weak  my  fellowship 

With  Thy  strong  suffering ! 

IV. 

Yet  Thy  dread  sacrifice 

So  fills  my  soul  with  woe, 
That  all  the  fountains  of  mine  eyes 

Well  up  and  overflow. 

v. 

The  spear  that  pierced  Thy  side 
Gave  wounds  to  more  than  Thee. 

Within  my  soul,  O  Crucified, 
Thy  cross  is  laid  on  me  ! 


90  THE    CROWN  OF  THORNS. 

VI. 

And  as  Thy  rocky  tomb 

Was  in  a  garden  fair, 
Where  round  about  stood  flowers  in  bloom, 

To  sweeten  all  the  air,  — 


VII. 

So,  in  my  heart  of  stone 

I  sepulchre  Thy  death, 
While  thoughts  of  Thee,  like  roses  blown, 

Bring  sweetness  in  their  breath. 


Arise  not,  O  my  Dead  !  — 
As  He  whom  Mary  sought, 

And  found  an  empty  tomb  instead, 
Her  spices  all  for  nought, — 


THE   CROWN  OF  THORNS.  91 

IX. 

O  Lord,  not  so  depart 

From  my  enshrining  breast, 

But  lie  anointed  in  a  heart 
That  by  Thy  death  is  blest! 

x. 

Or  if  Thou  shalt  arise, 

Abandon  not  Thy  grave, 
But  bear  it  with  Thee  to  the  skies  — 

A  heart  that  Thou  shalt  save ! 


92  THE   SAILOR'S    WEDDING. 


THE    SAILOR'S    WEDDING. 

IX1^  X1*^ 

LOITERING  ship  !"  a  sailor  cried, 
"Now  speed  me  home    to  wed  my 

bride!" 

The  ship,  through  flying  spray, 
Went  bounding  on  her  way. 

n. 

"  O  midnight  bells !  my  watch  Is  done ; 

O  happy  morrow !  haste  thy  sun." 
Then  down  he  lay  and  slept, 
And  in  his  dream  lie  wept. 


THE   SAILOR'S    WEDDING.  93 

III. 

He  dreamed  that  suddenly  the  waves 
Stood    fixed    and    green,    like     churchyard 
graves, 

And  then  a  mournful  bell 

Rang  out  a  funeral  knell. 

IV. 

"  Land  ho  !  "      the    deck-watch   called,  with 

cheers ; 
The  sleeper  wakened  from  his  tears. 

"  O,  day  of  joy  !  "  he  said  ; 

"  This  night  shall  I  be  wed." 

v. 

With  eager  feet  he  leaped  ashore, 
And  stood  at  Mary's  cottage  door : 

The  bride,  in  white  all  dressed, 
Was  in  her  grave  at  rest ! 


94  THE    VICTORT   OF  LIFE. 


THE    VICTORY    OF    LIFE 


§<]jL    ONCE  made  search,  in  hope  to  find 
Abiding  peace  of  mind. 


ii. 


I  toiled  for  riches  —  as  if  these 

Could  bring  the  spirit  ease  ! 


in. 


I  turned  aside  to  books  and  lore, 
Still  baffled  as  before. 


THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE.  95 


IV. 


I  tasted  then  of  love,  and  fame, 

But  hungered  still  the  same. 


v. 


I  chose  the  sweetest  paths  I  knew, 
Where  only  roses  grew. 


VI. 


Then  fell  a  voice  from  out  the  skies, 
With  warning  in  this  wise : 


VII. 


O  my  disciple !    is  it  meet 

That  roses  tempt  thy  feet? 


96  THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE. 


VIII. 


"  Thy  Master,  even  for  His  head, 
Had  only  thorns  instead  !  " 


IX. 


Then,  drawn  as  by  a  heavenly  grace, 
I  left  the  flowery  place, 


x. 


And  walked  on  cutting  flints  and  stones, 
And  said  with  tears  and  groans : 


XI. 


O  Lord !  my  feet,  where  Thou  dost  lead, 
Shall  follow,  though  they  bleed  ! " 


THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE.  97 

XII. 

As  then  I  saw  He  chose  my  path 
For  discipline,  not  wrath, — 

XIII. 

I  walked  in  weakness,  till  at  length 
I  suffered  unto  strength. 

XIV. 

Yet  never  were  my  trials  done, 
But  only  new  begun. 

xv. 

For  when  I  learned  to  cast  disdain 
Upon  some  special  pain, — 

7 


98  THE    VICTORT   OF  LIFE. 


XVI. 


He  gave  me  sharper  strokes  to  bear, 
And  pierced  me  to  despair; 


XVII. 


Until,  so  sorely  was  I  pressed, 
I  broke  beneath  the  test, 


XVIII. 


And  fell  within  the  Tempter's  power: 
But,  in  the  evil  hour, 


XIX. 


Bound  hand  and  foot,  I  cried,  "  O  Lord  ! 
Break  Thou  the  threefold  cord!" 


THE    VICTORY  OF  LIFE.  99 

XX. 

And  while  my  soul  was  at  her  prayer, 
He  snatched  me  from  the  snare. 

XXI. 

I  then  drew  nigh  the  gate  of  death, 

Where,  struggling  for  my  breath, 

XXII. 

I  shook  my  coward  knees  in  fear, 
Aghast  to  stand  so  near ! 

XXIII. 

Yet  while  I  shivered  in  the  gloom, 
Down-gazing  in  the  tomb, 


ioo  THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE. 

XXIV. 

UO  Lord!"  I  cried,  "bear  Thou  my  sin, 
And  I  will  enter  in  !" 

XXV. 

But  He  by  whom  my  soul  was  tried 
Not  yet  was  satisfied. 

XXVI. 

For  then  he  crushed  me  with  a  blow 
Of  more  than  mortal  woe,  — 

XXVII. 

Till  bitter  death  had  been  relief 
To  my  more  bitter  grief. 


THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE.  101 

XXVIII. 

Yet,  bleeding,  panting,  in  the  dust, 
I  knew  His  judgment  just ; 

XXIX. 

And  as  a  lark  with  broken  wing 

Sometimes  has  heart  to  sing,  — 

XXX. 

So  I,  all  shattered,  still  could  raise 
To  His  dear  name  the  praise ! 

XXXI. 

Henceforth  I  know  a  holy  prayer, 
To  conquer  pain  and  care. 


102  THE    VICTORY   OF  LIFE. 

XXXII. 

For  when   my  struggling  flesh  grows  faint, 
And  murmurs  with  complaint, 

XXXIII. 

My  spirit  cries,  "  THY  WILL  BE  DONE  ! " 
And  finds  the  victory  won ! 


A    WOMAN'S  LETTER.  103 


A    WOMAN'S    LETTER. 


friend    (mark,  only  friend,    and 

nothing  more), 
To-night,  in  parting  from  you  at  the  door, 
I  meant  to  speak  what  now  I  haste  to  write. 
You  saw  me  stand  awaiting  your  good  night ; 
You   asked   me   for  my  lips,  —  I   answered 

nay; 
You  then  let  fall  my  hand,  and  fled  away. 

The  rose  you  gave  me,  —  will  it  not  decay? 
Am  I  a  fool,  to  think  that  love  endures? 
I  knew  a  tongue  whose  words  were  fair  as 
yours ; 


104  A    WOMAN'S  LETTER. 

If  he  was  false,  the  rest  may  prove  the  same. 
You  too!  If  this  be  harsh,  am  I  to  blame? 
Are  bitter  things  that  go  by  some  sweet  name 
Less  bitter?  Love  is  but  a  sweet-named  gall ! 

A  heart  can  never  trust  until  it  knows ; 
A  heart  can  never  know  until  it  trusts ; 
A  heart  is  never  safe  that  loves  at  all. 
Love  is  the  pain  of  pains,  the  woe  of  woes  ! 
Let  women's  bosoms  turn  to  marble  busts ! 

You  have  a  right  to  know  ;  so  be  it  known, — 
I  have  no  other  heart  except  a  stone ! 

I  have  not  said  that  every  man  deceives ; 
Nor  do  I  say  no  woman's  heart  hath  burned, 
Like  mine,  with    love,  and   found    the   love 
returned : 


A    WOMAN'S  LETTER.  105 

I  only  know  the  lesson  I  have  learned ! 
Since   then,  I  have   not   loved ;   I  love  not 

now ; 

I  shall  not  love  again.     Not  any  vow 
Which    any    man    may    make  —  not    yours 

to-day  — 
Not  were   it    crowned   with   every   bud   of 

May  — 
Would  change  this  final  answer,  which  is 

Nay! 


io6          RED,    WHITE,   AND  BLUE. 


RED,    WHITE,    AND    BLUE.* 


'ED  Cypress !     Thee  I  pluck  to-day. 
All  flowers  have  meanings,  poets  say. 
The  legend  of  thy  leaf 
Is  death  and  grief: 
Thou  growest  for  the  sake 
Of  hearts  that  break. 
And  since  so  many  hearts  have  bled, 
Thy  star  hath  grown  blood-red. 
Thee  on  my  breast  I  wear, 
To  show  a  heart  bleeds  there ! 


*  Written  in  1863,  when  everybody  was  wearing 
a  rosette  of  red,  white,  and  blue. 


RED,    WHITE,   AND  BLUE.          107 

II. 

WHITE    Rose!     Why  pluck  I  not  the  red? 

The  red  rose  is  for  love  ; 
And  love  I  not  my  dead? 

What  speaks  the  white  rose  of? 
Of  love  in  its  despair ! 
This  woe  is  mine  to  bear  — 
So  I  the  white  rose  wear. 

in. 

BLUE  Harebell !     Swing  thyself  in  toll 

For  a  departed  soul ! 

Grief  is  thy  other  name ; 

Grief  bendeth  down  thy  head ; 

Grief  boweth  mine  the  same  — 

Grief  for  my  dead  ! 
But  grief,  most  grieving,  is  most  blest ! 


loS 


RED,    WHITE,   AND  BLUE. 


O,  heart  of  mine !    beat  not  my  breast, 
God  knoweth  best : 
So  be  at  rest ! 


PIERRE    CARDINAL'S  FAITH.        109 


PIERRE    CARDINAL'S    FAITH. 


OOD   bishop,   prithee,   listen    to   my 
tale  ! 


Pierre  Cardinal,  a  troubadour  of  France^ 
Who  bore  a  hundred  years  of  troubled  life, 
Fell  sick,  and  called  his  friends,  and  spake 

these  words  : 

"Now  since  I  have  not  lived  in  fear  of  death, 
I  trust  I  shall  not  die  in  fear  of  hell  ; 
Yet  when  ye  shall  array  me  for  the  grave, 
Clench  fast  this  parchment  in  my  folded  hand, 
That  I  may  read  it  at  the  judgment  day." 

The  scroll  ran  thus  —  now  rotting  with  his 
bones  : 


no       PIERRE    CARDINAL'S  FAITH, 

"  0  God  !  I  think  the  Devil  should  be  slain  ; 
For  many  a  soul  were  saved  to  Thee  thereby. 
Yet  since  Thy  hand  hath  formed  me  prone 

to  sin, 

If  Thou  art  wroth  at  seeing  me  so  made, 
Unframe  me  till  I  be  again  unborn. 
But  if  them  w^ilt  not  so  undo  my  birth, — 
And  if  I  was,  and  am,  and  shall  be,  —  then, 
O  Giver  of  my  hundred  years  of  pain  ! 
Deny  me  not,  I  pray,  Thy  peace  at  last ! 
My    Father !     welcome    Thou     Thy    child. 

Amen." 

Here  stopped  the  writing,  and  the  minstrel 
died. 

Good  bishop,  art  thoti  wise?     Then,  prithee, 

tell,  - 
Is  old  Pierre  Cardinal  in  heaven  or  hell? 


THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE.        in 


THE    SOLDIER'S  REVENGE. 

A.    D.    1655. 


HIS  golden  legend  first  was  told 
When  Swedes  and  Danes  were  foes 
of  old. 


ii. 

One  morn  the  Swedes  gave  way  so  soon 
The  battle  ended  at  the  noon. 


in. 


Two  foes  lay  sweltering  on  the  sand, 
Each  wounded  by  the  other's  hand. 


ii2         THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE. 

IV. 

The  Swede  exclaimed,  "  O  day  accurst, 
That  sees  a  soldier  die  of  thirst ! " 

v. 

The  Dane  replied,  with  anguish  wrung, 
"  My  water-flask  shall  cool  thy  tongue : 

VI. 

"  I  rilled  it  at  a  mountain  spring ; 
Drink  thou  to  Denmark  and  the  king ! 

VII. 

"  But  precious  loss  if  any  drips ; 
So  hold  it  steady  to  thy  lips ! " 


THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE.         113 


The  Swede  replied,  u  If  thee  I  kill, 
Thy  flask  is  mine  to  drink  my  fill !  " 


IX. 


Then  drawing  poniard  from  his  girth, 
He  struck  a  blow,  but  stabbed  the  earth. 

x. 

The  Dane  exclaimed,  "  O  wretched  Swede  ! 
How  durst  thou  do  so  base  a  deed  ! 

% 

XI. 

"  By  Heaven  !    I  take  revenge,  O  knave  !  " 
Then  snatching  back  the  flask  he  gave, 
8 


ii4         THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE. 

XII. 

"Thirst    thou,"    he    cried,    "while    I    shall 

quaff; 
Thy  throat  shall  swallow  only  half! 

XIII. 

"  I  meant  to  bid  thee  drink  the  whole : 
So  curse  thy  loss,  thou  dastard  soul ! " 

XIV. 

The  King  of  Denmark  overheard, 
And  smiling  at  the  deed  and  word, 

xv. 

Proclaimed,  in  sight  of  all  his  train, 
"1  club  thee  knight,  O  noble  Dane!" 


THE  SOLDIER'S  REVENGE.         115 
XVI. 

Uprose  a  noise  of  Danish  cheers  — 
Heard  yet  through  twice  a  hundred  years. 

XVII. 

So  every  hero  hath  reward  — 

Of  men,  of  kings,  or  of  the  Lord ! 


n6  TO    THE  BRIDE  ISABEL, 


TO    THE    BRIDE    ISABEL. 

ENCLOSING    A   HEART'S-EASE. 


MAIDEN,  I  who,  many  miles  away, 
This  way-side,  letter  of  remembrance 

send, 

To  intercept  thy  coming  wedding-day, 
That  hastens  hither  ere  the  roses  end, 
Send  with  it  (better  than  a  rose)  a  flower 
Less  fair,  yet  fitter  for  thy  feast ; 
A  flower  worth  all  the  gardens  of  the  East, 
And  rich  enough  to  be  thy  bridal  dower : 
For,    having     heart's-ease,    hast     thou     not 
enough  ? 


TO    THE  BRIDE  ISABEL,  117 

But  heart's-ease  is  a  perishable  stuff — 

A  fading  flower  that  hath  not  long  to  live  — 

A  mocking  gift  that  is  not  mine  to  give. 

Yet  as  I  give  the  emblem,  I  uplift 

A  prayer  that  God  will  add  the  perfect  gift. 

But  we  who  pray  know  not  for  what  we 

plead. 

If  He  who  knoweth  every  human  need 
Should  overrule  my  gift,  and  make  it  vain, 
And  then  bestow  instead  His  gift  of  pain ; 
If  at  His  finger-touch  thy  heart's-ease  fade, 
And  wither  into  heart-break,  —  O  fair  maid  ! 
Who  knowest  now  of  love,  but  not  of  grief, 
Go  question  all  the  sorrows  of  the  world, 
And  thou  shalt  find  that  sorrowing  love  is 

chief! 


nS  TO    THE  BRIDE  ISABEL. 

As  if  a  wedding-tress  should  burst  its  braid, 
Or  twisted  ringlet  droop  and  hang  uncurled, 
And  shake  its  orange-blossoms  to  the  ground, 
So  love  at  last  may  loose  what  first  it  bound, 
And  drop  the  joys  wherewith  it  once  was 
crowned. 

But  as  a  bird  that  hath  a  heavenward  wing 
May  shed   a  plume,  yet  shall   not  cease  to 

sing, 

So  love,  despite  her  losses,  waxeth   strong, 
And  bears  above  them  all  a  cheery  song. 

When  thou,  like  other  brides  whose  hearts 

have  burned 

With  over-joy  of  love,  hast  also  learned, 
And  wept  in  learning,  that  through  all  the 

years, 


TO    THE  BRIDE  ISABEL.  119 

Love  often  hath  her  bosom  pierced  of  spears, 
Learn  thou,  by  discipline  of  thorn  and  sting, 
That  sorrow  also  is  a  sacred  thing. 
There  never  yet  was  any  wedding-ring 
That  did  not  make  a  marriage  unto  tears. 
When    thon  this  fading  flower    away   shalt 

fling, 

May  love,  that  hath  no  earthly  sorrow,  bring 
Thy  bosom  heart' s-ease  from  celestial  spheres. 


120          THE  MOTHER'S  PRATER. 


THE    MOTHER'S    PRAYER. 

^m^P^ 

TH  eager  arms  a  mother  pressed 
\  laughing  babe  against  her  breast. 


ii. 

Then  thus  to  Heaven  she  cried   in  prayer 
"  Now  even  as  his  face  is  fair, 


in. 

"  O  Lord !    keep  Thou  his  soul  within 
As  free  from  any  spot  of  sin." 


THE   MOTHER'S  PRAYER.          121 

IV. 

From  heaven  the  Lord  an  answer  made : 
"  Behold  !    I  grant  as  thou  hast  prayed." 

v. 

Within  her  door  the  darkness  crept, 
And  babe   and  mother  sweetly  slept. 

VI. 

The  belfry  rang  the  midnight  bell ; 
The  watchman  answered,  "All  is  well." 

VII. 

The  mother,  by  the  cradle-side, 
Awoke  to  find  the  babe  had  died. 


122  THE  MOTHER'S  PRATER. 

VIII. 

With  grief  to  set  a  woman  wild, 

She  caught  and  clasped  the  marble  child,  — 

IX. 

Until  her  heart  against  his  own 
Was  broken,  beating  on  a  stone  ! 

x. 

u  O  God  ! "  she  cried,  in  her  despair, 

u  Why  hast  thou  mocked  a  mother's  prayer?" 

XI. 

Then  answered  He,  "  As  I  have  willed, 
Thy  prayer,  O  woman  !    is  fulfilled : 


THE   MOTHER'S  PRATER.          123 

XII. 

"  If  on  the  earth  thy  child  remain, 
His  soul  shall  gather  many  a  stain : 

XIII. 

"At  thy  behest,  I  stretch  my  hand 
And  take  him  to  the  heavenly  land ! " 

XIV. 

The  mother  heard,  and  bowed  her  head, 
And  laid  her  cheek  against  the  dead, 

xv. 

And  cried,  "  O  God  !  I  dare  not  pray  — 
Thou  answerest  in  so  strange  a  way ! " 


i24          THE  MOTHER'S  PRATER. 

XVI. 

In  shadow  of  a  taper's  light, 

She  moaned  through  all  the  livelong  night ; 

XVII. 

But  when  the  morning  brought  the  sun, 
She  prayed,  "Thy  will,  O  God,  be  done!" 


THE  BROKEN   VOW.  125 


THE    BROKEN    VOW. 
A  WOMAN'S  SOLILOQUY. 

HIS    spot  is  where  we  parted  ;    and 

I  think 
That  had  he   not  turned  back,  to  give  the 

chain 

That  bound  our  hearts  another  golden  link, 
I  might  have  suffered,  when  it  snapped,  less 

pain. 

But,  parting  here,  he   loitered  in  the  lane, 
Then   stopped,  and,  leaning  on    the  garden 

gate, 

He  whistled  like  a  robin  to  his  mate ; 
Till  I,  with  merry  mocking  of  his  call, 
Ran  down  to  meet  him  at  the  garden  wall. 


126  THE  BROKEN  VOW. 

Uplifting  both  his  hands,  he  seized  a  vine 
And  shook  a  storm  of  dew  upon  my  hair ; 
Then,  spying  roses  near,  "  O  maiden  mine  !  " 
He  said,  "  I  pluck  for  thee  a  bud  so  fair, 
That  had  it  grown  in  any  Eastern  clime, — 
Where   love    is  writ   in    flowers    instead   of 

rhyme,  — 

And  were  it  folded,  thus,  within  thy  hand, 
Mayhap  a  woman's  wit  would  understand 
That  her  departing  lover  hies  to  bring, 
With    swift    returning    steps,    her   wedding- 
ring  ! " 

I   heard,   and  trembled,   and   stood    queenly 

crowned, 

But  cast  my  eyes,  bewildered,  to  the  ground, 
And  asked  myself,  How  could  it  be  that  I, 
So  lowly-born,  should  mate  with  one  so  high  ! 


THE  BROKEN  VOW.  127 

I  turned  my  face  to  brush  away  a  tear. 
He  bent  his  head,  and  whispered  in  my  car, 
"Dear  love,  my  loitering  feet,  so  loth  to  go, 
Shall  speed  me  back  before  the  bud   shall 
blow." 

He   went.      That    day   was    like   a   golden 

dream  — 

And  he  the  light  that  set  the  day  aglcwr, 
And  I  the  mote  that  floated  in  his  beam. 

Tnen  on  the  marble  mantel  of  my  room 
I  placed  the  bud,  and  nursed  it  into  bloom, 
And  kissed  the  very  thorns  from  day  to  day  ; 
And  yet  the  laggard  truant  staid  away. 
At  first  I  saw  the  calyx  swell  and  crack  — 
And  break  the  promise  of  his  coming  back. 


128  THE  BROKEN  VOW. 

Then    through    the    empty    days,    I    asked 

myself, 
"Why  comes  he  not?"     At  last  the  chilly 

shelf 

Whereon  the  fiery  petals  fell  had  grown 
Like  sandal  wood  for  fragrance,  or  the  stone 
That  pilgrims  kiss  within  the  prophet's  tomb. 
Outspread  like  pages  of  the  book  of  doom, 
The  leaves  too  sweetly  told  my  bitter  fate. 
His  feet  returned  not  to  the  garden  gate ; 
His  face  I  have  not  looked  upon  since  then ; 
His  name  is  written  with  the  rich  and  great ; 
His  fame  is  high  among  the  famous  men. 
O  Thou  who  sittest  on  the  judgment  throne ! 
Forbid  my  heart  to  harbor  human  hate, 
But  henceforth  let  me  trust  in  Thee  alone. 


GOD   SAVE    THE  NATION.  129 


GOD    SAVE    THE    NATION. 

A   WAR   HYMN. 

/-A,  \JLsHOU    who   ordainest,  for  the    land's 
***^  P          salvation, 

Famine,  and  fire,  and  sword,  and  lamenta 
tion, 

Now  unto  Thee  we  lift  our  supplication  — 
God  save  the  Nation ! 

ii. 

By  the  great  sign  foretold  of  Thy  appearing, 
Coming  in  clouds,  while  mortal  men  stand 

fearing, 

Show  us,  amid  the  smoke  of  battle,  clearing, 
Thy  chariot  nearing. 
9 


i^o  GOD   SAVE    THE  NATION. 

III. 

By  the  brave  blood  that  floweth  like  a  river, 
Hurl    Thou    a   thunderbolt   from    out    Thy 

quiver ! 
Break  Thou  the  strong  gates !     every  fetter 

shiver ! 
Smite  and  deliver ! 

IV. 

Slay  Thou  our  foes,  or  turn  them  to  derision  ! 
Then,  in  the  blood-red  Valley  of  Decision, 
Clothe  Thou  the  fields,  as  in  the  prophet's 

vision, 
With  peace  Elysian  ! 


THE  PREACHER    OF  PADUA.        131 


THE    STRANGE    PREACHER 

OF  PADUA.  • 


PADUAN     Minorite    lay     deathly 

sick, 

And  cried,  "  O  God  !    if  I  should  die  to-day 
(Who  thought  to  preach  to-morrow),  send  a 

monk 

With  grace  from  heaven  to  pluck  the  church 
from  hell!" 

Next  day  at  matins,  while  a  thousand  eyes 
Were  gazing  at  a  shaft  of  fluted  stone, 
To  which   (as  when   a  swallow  builds   her 

nest 
Against  a  beam)  the  pulpit  clung,  uprose  a 

monk, 


132        THE  PREACHER   OF  PADUA. 

Who  said,  "  The  holy  friar  whose  face  ye  seek 
Hath  left  his  corpse  outstretched  upon  his 

bed, 
And    upward     mounted    to    his    crown    in 

heaven ! 
Be  warned,  O  Paduans !  turn  and  flee  from 

hell ! " 

As  if  he  then  had  hurled  a  shaft  of  fire, 
He  stung  their  cheeks  to  scarlet,  like  their  sin. 
In   anguish  for  their  souls,   some  knelt  and 

prayed  ; 
Some  uttered   groans ;    some    faded    ghostly 

white. 

Each  sinner  felt  an  earthquake  in  his  breast. 
And  when  at  last  the  monk  intoned  the  creed, 
The  choir  were  thick  of  throat  —  too  choked 

to  sing ; 


THE  PREACHER    OF  PADUA.       133 

The    organ    blew    no    breath    through    any 

pipe  — 
The    player's    hands    could    only   prop    his 

brows. 
Then  walked  the  stricken   people  from  the 

church, 
As  mourners  mutely  scatter  from  a  tomb. 

The  preacher,  with  two  friars,  strolled    out 

beyond 

The  city's  gate  —  their  bare  feet  in  the  grass, 
Their  bare  heads  shaded  by  the  orange  trees, 
Their  voices  answering  to  the  lark's  with 

song. 

Behind  them  followed  —  staggering,  panting, 

pale, 
Scarce   half  alive  —  the    priest  they  left  for 

dead : 


134       THE  PREACHER    OF  PADUA. 

Who,  having  learned  the  marvel  of  the  day, 
Sprang  out  of  bed,  made  chase  to  catch  the 

monk, 

Espied  a  club-foot  underneath  his  gown, 
And  cried  with  voice  that  hushed  their  happy 

hymns, 
"  O  friends  bewitched !    I  swear  by  Heaven 

above. 
This  preacher  is  the  Devil  from  below !  " 

With  mildewed  spots  and  warts,  the  preach 
er's  face 

Turned  to  a  toad's  —  then  changed  and 
seemed  a  monk's. 

The    brethren    stared    to    see    two    human 

shapes  — 
One  risen  out  of  death,  one  out  of  hell ! 


THE  PREACHER    OF  PADUA,        135 

"  O  enemy  of  God ! "  exclaimed  the  friar, 
"  Before  I  strike  thee  with  this  crucifix, 
Give  answer   why   thou    chidcst  men   from 

hell, 
Since    thou    wouldst   lure    them    in?"     The 

Devil  quailed, 
And  said,    "  I  warn   men   of  their  sins  that 

when, 
Once   warned,    they   sin    again    (as   straight 

they  do), 
Their  double  guilt  shall  bring  them  double 

doom  ; 

For  at  the  judgment  I  shall  say,  '  O  Judge  ! 
The  souls  that  charged  their  fall  to  trick  of 

mine 
Speak  shameless  lies; — for,  tempting  not,  I 

warned  ; 
And,  snaring  not,  I  pointed  out  the  snare ; 


136        THE  PREACHER    OF  PADUA. 

And,  seeing  them  upon  the  burning  brink, 
With   tears  I  bade  them  back ;  —  yet  down 

they  plunged ! 
Condemn    them    now    to    me,    and   to    the 

flame ! ' " 
\ 

So  saying,  as  a  diver  cleaves  the  sea, 
He,  diving,  cleft  the  earth,  and  sank  to  hell. 

With     hands     uplifted     toward     the     city's 

walls, 
"O  Padua!"     cried  the  friar,    "what  tears 

these  eyes 
Have  wasted,  weeping  for  your   souls  not 

saved ! " 

Uprose  he  then  sublime  of  stature,  clenched 
His    hands,  gave  up  the   ghost,  and   fell    a 

stone ! 


THE  PREACHER   OF  PADUA.       137 

All    Padua,  when    it   heard    the   tale,   stood 

dumb. 

No  man  but  vowed  to  live  a  whiter  life ! 
O  fickle  human  heart !     Thy  brittle  vows 
Are  dashed  to  pieces  on  thy  stony  self  ! 
The  sinners  sinned  afresh  !     The  Devil  wrent 
Not  back  to  St.  Antonio's  church  !    No  need  ! 
For  St.  Antonio's  church  went  back  to  him  ! 


138  A   VACATION  HYMN. 


A  VACATION    HYMN. 


ON   CLOSING    SCHOOL    FOR   THE    SUMMER. 


sing  a  song,  and  then  we  part 
*^§f       How  swiftly  time  is  winging! 
But  sweet  are  farewells  of  the  heart 

When  they  are  said  in  singing. 
The  roses  climb  the  garden  wall ; 

The  buds  have  long  been  blowing ; 
The  summer's  breezy  voices  call, 
And  we  must  now  be  going ! 


A   VACATION  HYMN.  139 

II. 

The  blue-bird  trembles  in  her  nest, 

Which  every  wind  is  swaying ; 
The  robin  sings  and  shows  his  breast, 

While  we  are  here  delaying ; 
The  bees  have  set  their  pipes  in  tune 

On  every  head  of  clover ; 
And  we  must  haste  to  hear  them  soon, 

Or  summer  will  be  over ! 


in. 

O  God  of  every  lowly  heart 

And  every  lofty  feeling, 
Be  Thou  adored  for  what  Thou  art 

In  Nature's  own  revealing ! 


140  A   VACATION  HYMN. 

Wherever  summer's  grass  is  green, 
Or  winter's  snow  is  hoary, 

The  hiding  of  Thy  face  is  seen  — 
We  know  Thee  by  Thy  glory ! 


IV. 

If  we  who  sing  a  parting  song 

Have  mortal  meeting  never, 
There  is  a  journey,  short  or  long, 

Where  summer  lasts  forever. 
All  hail,  O  fairest  land  of  lands, 

Whose  blossoms  never  wither ! 
Although  we  here  unclasp  our  hands, 

Our  feet  shall  travel  thither. 


FRIENDSHIP.  141 


FRIENDSHIP. 


TOE.    S.    L. 


TRUE  and  noble  friend  !  —  (too  far 


\ 

away  : 


Thou  on  the  prairie,  I  beside  the  sea)  — 
The  spring,  that  should  be  here,  makes  long 

delay, 

And  not  a  flower  is  open  to  the  bee. 
Meanwhile,  from  thee,  the  west  wind  comes 

to  say, 
Thy  feet  are  walking  where  the  fields  are 

fair, 
And  nests  are  in  the  boughs  that  late  were 

bare. 
Thou  hast  the  early  season,  I  the  late. 


142  FRIENDSHIP. 

For  thee  the  blossoms  of  the  orchard  blow  ; 
On    me    the   sea-gulls    and    the    fog-wreaths 

wait. 
But  shall  the  leagues  between  us  loose  the 

band 
By  which,  though  hands  unclasp,  yet  hearts 

may  cling? 

I  ask  myself,  shall  we,  who,  months  ago, 
Through  frosty  days,  and  in  a  frozen  land, 
Built  up  a  friendship  on  the  winter's  snow, 
Behold  it  melt  and  vanish  in  the  spring? 
False  friendship  was  it,  if  it  perish  so : 
True  friendship  is  an  everlasting  thing. 
There  runs  a  record  that  not  only  saith, 
He  "  loved  his  own,"  but  "  loved  them  to 

the  end." 

So  evermore  a  man  shall  love  his  friend, 
With  friendship  that  outliveth  life  and  death  ! 


HARP  OF  ANDREW  MARVELL.     143 


THE    HARP     OF    ANDREW 
MARVELL.* 


"And  if  we  would  speak  true, 
Much  to  the  man  is  due 

"Who  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserve*!  and  austere 
(As  if  his  highest  plot 
To  plant  the  bergamot), 

"Could  by  industrious  valor  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  time, 
And  cast  the  kingdoms  old 
Into  another  mould." 

Marvell's  Ode  on  Cromwell,  1650. 


MARVELL'S  harp  !  I  dare  to  wake 
Thy  silent  strings  for  Freedom's  sake, 
To  sing  how  vain  thy  boast 
Of  Cromwell's  conquering  host  ! 


*  "These  verses  are  an  echo  of  Marvell's  Ode  to 
Cromwell.    The  Commonwealth  of  England,  which, 


i44    HARP   OF  ANDREW  MARVELL. 

II. 

O  Marvell's  self!  arise  instead, 
To  warn  the  living  by  the  dead, 

How  Freedom  may  be  lost, 
Though  won  at  bloody  cost! 

in. 

A  nation,  weak  amid  her  might, 
Sent  forth  her  lowliest  to  the  fight, 
Until  by  men  enslaved 
The  free  themselves  were  saved. 

by  a  successful  war,  was  placed  upon  a  sure  founda 
tion  of  freedom,  was  then,  by  an  unsuccessful  *  recon 
struction,'  set  back  upon  the  old  corner-stone  of 
monarchy.  Let  not  the  Republic  of  America,  after 
a  like  struggle,  suffer  a  like  fate ! "  —  The  Inde 
pendent,  New  York,  Nov.  16,  1865. 


HARP  OF  ANDREW  MARVELL.     145 

IV. 

But,  O  victorious  state  !  —  unjust, 
Perfidious,  false  to  Freedom's  trust  !  — 
Thy  feet  are  trampling  now 
The  men  who  crowned  thy  brow  ! 

v. 

Before  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth, 
Men  hold  an  equal  rank  of  birth, 

An  equal  law  of  breath, 

An  equal  dust  of  death. 


O  Freedom  !  open  thou  a  grave, 
Where  every  king,  where  every  slave, 

Shall  cast  in  crown  and  chain, 

Till  only  men  remain  ! 
10 


146    HARP  OF  ANDREW  MARVELL. 
VII. 

Meanwhile,  I  lay  thee  on  the  ground, 
O  harp !  nor  smite  thee  to  a  sound, 
For  now  a  poet's  stroke 
Is  vain  to  break  a  yoke. 

VIII. 

But  when  the  tardy  earth  hath  rolled 
Her  kingdoms  to  the  age  of  gold, 

A  poet  by  his  song 

Shall  crumble  down  a  wrong ! 


DYING,   AND    TET  LIVING.         147 


DYING    AND    YET    LIVING, 
i. 

died  —  yet  is  not  dead! 
Ye  saw  a  daisy  on  her  tomb : 
It  bloomed  to  die  —  she  died  to  bloom 
Her  summer  hath  not  sped. 

ii. 

She  died  —  yet  is  not  dead! 

Ye  saw  her  jewels  all  unset ; 

But  God  let  fall  a  coronet 
To  crown  her  ransomed  head. 


148        DYING,  AND    YET  LIVING. 

III. 

She  died  —  yet  is  not  dead: 

Ye  saw  her  gazing  toward  a  sky 
Whose  lights  are  shut  from  mortal  eye 

She  lingered  —  yearned  —  and  fled. 


IV. 

She  died  —  yet  is  not  dead  ! 

Through  pearly  gate,  on  golden  street, 
She  went  her  way  with  shining  feet :  —- 

Go  ye,  and  thither  tread ! 


PRATER    OF  THE  NATIONS.        149 


THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  NATIONS. 

i. 

TIIOU  by  whom  the  lost  arc  found, 
Whose    cross    upon    the    mountain 

stands, 
Let  now  its  shadow  on  the  ground 

Spread  east  and  west  through  all  the  lands 
Until  it  wrap  the  earth  around ! 

n. 

O  Christ,  by  this  Thy  conquering  sign, 
Let  Thy  extended  arms  outreach 

To  all  who  dwell  from  palm  to  pine, 
To  bind  each  human  heart'  to  each, 

And  all,  O  Crucified,  to  Thine! 


150       PRATER   OF  THE  NATIONS. 

in. 
The  morning  stars  give  forth  a  song, 

But,  like  a  discord  in  the  strain, 
The  earth,  through  all  her  years  of  wrong, 

Forever  moans  as  one  in  pain, 
And  cries,  How  long,  O  God !    how  long ! 

IV. 

Yet  not  a  star  of  all  the  sky 

To  Thee  hath  fairness  like  the  earth, 

That  rolls  her  zones  before  Thine  eye 
To  show  to  Heaven  Thy  place  of  birth, 

And  sepulcher  where  Thou  didst  lie! 

v. 

O  Thou  who  cleansest  men  from  sin, 
The  Heaven  of  heavens,  impatient,  waits 

Till  round  the  earth  Thy  reign  begin ! 
O  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  gates, 

And  let  the  King  of  Glory  in ! 


IN  MEMORIAM.  151 


IN    MEMORIAM. 

AN  ACROSTIC. 

HESE   roses,  planted  on   her  grave, 

have  blown: 
Her  memory,  still  too  fresh  for  graven  stone, 
Endures  as  written  on  our  hearts  alone. 
O  loving  friend  !  wrhen  thee  we  hither  bore, 
Dim  were  our  eyes,  and  black  the  weeds  we 

wore  : 
Our  grief  hath  since  grown  less  —  our  love 

grown  more. 
Sweet  gift  of  God  !  *   whose  gift  we  could 

not  keep!  — 

If  ever  angels  watch  where  willows  weep, 
A  wall  of  folded  wings  shall  guard  thy  sleep  ! 

*  Thcodosia,  "  Gift  of  God." 


152  THE  MONK'S  MATIN. 


THE    MONK'S    MATIN. 


# 


UR  night  has  vanished  like  a  dream  ; 
Too  fast  the  witching  hours  flew  by  ; 
The  moon  too  kindly  veiled  her  beam  ; 
We  might  have  feared  a  clearer  sky. 


n. 

We  conld  not  see  each  other's  face, 
For  not  a  firefly  lit  a  spark : 

May  Heaven  forgive  the  mad  embrace, 
For  we  were  blinded  by  the  dark ! 


THE  MONK'S  MATIN.  153 

III. 

Within  our  garden  of  delight, 

We  thought  the  rose  without  a  thorn : 

And  so  we  plucked  the  sweet  at  night, 
Nor  ever  felt  the  wound  till  morn. 

IV. 

The  shadows  bring  the  hours  of  bliss : 
The  sunbeams  that  on  lovers  shine 

Dry  off  the  dews  from  lips  that  kiss, 
Till  love  is  left  but  half  divine. 

v. 

But  could  the  joy  be  unrestrained, — 
And  could  the  love  go  free  of  blame, — 

O,  would  the  midnight  never  waned, 
And  would  the  morning  never  came ! 


154  MALTDT  CHAPEL. 


MALTBY    CHAPEL. 


TO   M.    A.    B. 


tALTBY  Chapel,  as  you  know, 

Fell  two  hundred  years  ago. 
Hardly  now  is  left  a  stone, 
Save  upon  the  graves  alone. 
If  your  feet  should  chance  to  pass, 
Weary,  through  the  churchyard  grass, 
Rest  them  by  a  marble  tomb 
Crumbling  over  bride  and  groom, 
Who,  when  they  were  hardly  wed, 
Found  the  grave  their  bridal  bed. 


MALTBT  CHAPEL.  155 


II. 

Flowering  in  the  wall  on  high, 

Like  a  garden  in  the  sky, 

Stood  a  window  of  the  fane, 

Whence,  through  many  a  rosy  pane, 

Lights  of  purple,  blue,  and  red 

Down  through  nave  and  aisle  were  shed. 

Central  in  the  fair  design 

Hung  the  Sorrowing  Man  divine ; 

Near  him,  gazing,  knelt  or  stood 

Mary's  weeping  sisterhood ; 

Next,  with  colors  interchanged, 

Hoi}''  emblems  round  were  ranged, 

First  a  light,  and  then  a  dark ;  — 

Here  the  lion  of  St.  Mark  ; 

There  the  eagle  of  St.  John  ; 

Cherub  heads  with  pinions  on ; 


156  MALT  BY  CHAPEL. 

Virgin  lilies,  white  as  frost ; 

Palm  and  olive  branches,  crossed  ; 

Picture  of  the  Paschal  Lamb ; 

Letters  of  the  great  I  AM ; 

Last  and  topmost,  Cross  and  Crown, 

And  a  White  Dove  flying  down. 

Such  a  window,  in  the  light, 

Was  itself  a  wondrous  sight ; 

But  the  eyes  that  on  it  gazed 

Saw  devoutly,  as  it  blazed, 

Not  the  purple  panes  alone, 

Not  the  sun  that  through  them  shone 

But,  beyond  the  lucent  wall, 

Heaven  itself  outshining  all ! 

in. 

Up  through  Maltby's  dusty  road 
Cromwell  and  his  pikemen  strode, — 


MALTBT  CHAPEL.  157 

Six  and  twenty  hundred  strong, — 
Roaring  forth  a  battle  song ; 
Who,  in  marching  to  the  fray, 
Passed  the  chapel  on  their  way ; 
Never  dreaming  how,  inside, 
Knelt  a  bridegroom  and  his  bride, — 
She  the  daughter  of  a  peer, 
He  a  knight  and  Cavalier. 
Quoth  the  leader,  "  Rub  the  stains 
Out  of  yonder  painted  panes  !  " 
Glancing  at  a  mark  to  strike, 
Then  a  pikeman  raised  his  pike, 
Drew  it  backward  half  its  length, 
Hurled  it  forward  with  his  strength. 
Sent  it  whizzing  through  the  air, 
Sped  it  with  a  pious  prayer, 
Winged  it  with  a  holy  curse, 
Barbed  it  with  a  Scripture  verse, 


ii'8  MALTBT  CHAPEL. 

Heard  it  dash  through  pane  and  sash, 
Till,  above  the  tinkling  crash, 

O  7 

Loud  his  shouting  mates  exclaimed, 
"  Bravo,  Ironsides  !    well  aimed  ! 
So  may  every  church  of  sin 
Have  the  light  of  God  let  in." 

IV. 

Like  the  spear  that  pierced  the  side 
Of  the  Saviour  crucified, 
So  the  weapon  that  was  hurled 
Smote  the  Saviour  of  the  world ; 
Tearing  out  the  sacred  tree 
Where  he  hung  for  you  and  me; 
Curving  downward,  flying  fast 
Where  the  streaming  rays  were  cast; 
Flashing  from  the  shaft  each  hue 
Which  it  caught  in  quivering  through ; 


MALTBT  CHAPEL.  159 

Plunging  toward  the  bridal  pair 
While  they  yet  were  bent  in  prayer ; 
Then,  like  very  Death's  own  dart, 
Pierced  the  maiden  to  the  heart ! 
Back  she  fell,  against  the  floor, 
Lying  crimson  in  her  gore, 
Till  her  bloodless  face  grew  pale, 
Like  the  whiteness  of  her  veil ! 

v. 

Years  may  come,  and  years  may  go, 
Ere  a  mortal  man  shall  know 
Such  a  more  than  mortal  pain 
As  the  knight  felt  in  his  brain  ! 
Long  he  knelt  beside  the  dead, 
Long  he  kissed  her  face  and  head, 
Long  he  clasped  her  pulseless  palm, 
He  in  tempest,  she  in  calm  ! 


160  MALTBr  CHAPEL. 

Stricken  by  his  anguish  dumb, 
Neither  words  nor  tears  would  come ; 
Till  at  last,  with  groan  and  shriek, 
Brokenly  he  thus  did  speak: 
"O  sweet  body!  turned  to  clay  — 
Since  thy  soul  hath  fled  away, 
Let  this  lingering  soul  of  mine 
Lift  its  wings  and  fly  to  thine?  — 
Wed  us  in   Thy  Heavens,   O  Lord  I" 
Rose  he  then,  and  drew  his  sword, 
Braced  its  hilt  against  the  wood 
Of  the  altar  where  he  stood, 
Leaned  his  breast  against  its  point, 
Stiffened  every  limb  and  joint, 
Clenched  his  hands  about  the  blade, 
Muttered  words  as  if  he  prayed,  — 
Then,  with  one  ecstatic  breath, 
Cast  himself  upon  his  death ! 


MALTDT  CHAPEL.  161 

VI. 

Hence  the  tomb  was  made  so  wide 
Both  could  slumber  side  by  side. 
But,  though  lovers  fall  to  dust, 
As  their  mortal  bodies  must, 
Still,  to  souls  that  interblcnd, 
Love  itself  can  never  end. 

VII. 

Rupert,  flying  in  defeat, 
Checked  at  Maltby  his  retreat, 
Thought  the  chapel  bullet-proof, 
Camped  his  men  beneath  its  roof, 
Stood  defiant  for  a  day, 
Fiery  as  a  stag  at  bay, 
Made  a  grim  defence,  but  vain, — 
Then,  in  darkness  and  in  rain, 
n 


162  MALTBT  CHAPEL. 

Fearful  of  the  morrow's  fight, 
Stole  away  at  dead  of  night. 
When  the  Roundheads  saw  with  rage 
How  the  birds  had  quit  the  cage, 
They,  in  spite,  with  blow  on  blow, 
Fought  the  chapel  for  a  foe ! 
So  it  came  that  tower  and  bell, 
Roof  and  spire,  together  fell, — 
Battered  down,  in  name  of  Heaven, 
April,  sixteen  fifty-seven ! 


THE  FLT. 


163 


THE    FLY.* 

A   RHYME    FOR   CHILDREN. 


ABY  Bye, 

Here's  a  Fly: 
Let  us  watch  him,  you  and  I. 

How  he  crawls 

Up  the  walls  — 

Yet  he  never  falls  ! 
I  believe,  with  those  six  legs, 
You  and  I  could  walk  on  eggs! 

There  he  goes, 

On  his  toes, 

Tickling  Baby's  nose  ! 

*  These  lines  have  been  set  to  music  by  Lowell 
Mason  ;  they  may  be  sung  also  to  the  tune  of 
"Lightly  Row." 


164  THE  FLT. 

II. 

Spots  of  red 

Dot  his  head : 
Rainbows  on  his  wings  are  spread 

That  small  speck 

Is  his  neck ; 

See  him  nod  and  beck ! 
I  can  show  you,  if  you  choose, 
Where  to  look  to  find  his  shoes : 

Three  small  pairs 

Made  of  hairs  — 

These  he  always  wears, 

in. 

Black  and  brown 
Is  his  gown ; 
He  can  wear  it  upside  down ! 


THE  FLT.  165 

It  is  laced 

Round  his  waist; 

I  admire  his  taste. 
Pretty  as  his  clothes  are  made, 
He  will  spoil  them,  I'm  afraid, 

If  to-night 

He  gets  sight 

Of  the  candle-light! 

IV. 

In  the  sun 

Webs  are  spun: 
What  if  he  gets  into  one ! 

When  it  rains 

He  complains 

On  the  window-panes. 
Tongues  to  talk  have  you  and  I : 


1 66  THE  FLT. 

God  has  given  the  little  Fly 
No  such  things ; 
So  he  sings 
With  his  buzzing  wings. 

v. 

He  can  eat 

Bread  and  meat; 
See  his  mouth  between  his  feet ! 

On  his  back 

Hangs  a  sack, 

Like  a  peddler's  pack. 
Does  the  Baby  understand? 
Then  the  Fly  shall  kiss  her  hand! 

Put  a^  crumb 

On  her  thumb : 

Maybe  he  will  come ! 


THE  FLT.  167 

VI. 

Round  and  round, 

On  the  ground, 
On  the  ceiling  he  is  found. 

Catch  him?     No: 

Let  him  go : 

Never  hurt  him  so ! 
Now  you  see  his  wings  of  silk 
Drabbled  in  the  Baby's  milk! 

Fie,  oh  fie! 

Foolish  Fly ! 
How  will  he  get  dry? 

VII. 

All  wet  flies 
Twist  their  thighs: 
So  they  wipe  their  heads  and  eyes. 


1 68  THE  FLT. 

Cats,  you  know, 

Wash  just  so : 

Then  their  whiskers  grow. 
Flies  have  hair  too  short  to  comb ! 
Flies  go  barehead  out  from  home! 

But  the  Gnat 

Wears  a  hat : 

Do  you  laugh  at  that? 

VIII. 

Flies  can  see 

More  than  we  — 
So  how  bright  their  eyes  must  be ! 

Little  Fly, 

Mind  your  eye  — 

Spiders  are  near  by! 
Now  a  secret  let  me  tell : 
Spiders  will  not  treat  you  well ! 


THE  FLY. 

So  I  say 

Heed  your  way ! 

Little  Fly,  good  day ! 


169 


170  THE  HUNGRT  KITTENS. 


THE  TWO  HUNGRY  KITTENS. 

TO   BE   RECITED   AT   A   CHILDREN'S   PARTY. 
I. 

fWO  Kittens  grew  hungry  with  licking 

their  feet, 

And  ran  around  snooping  for  something  to 
eat. 

II. 

"Me-ow  !  "  said  the  Curly-tail,  "  milk  would 

be  nice." 
"Ska-fitch  !"  cried  the  Smutty-nose,  "/shall 

eat  mice!" 

ii 


THE  HUNGRY  KITTENS.  171 

III. 

The  house  of  the  mice  was  a  hole  in  the  floor, 
Too  small  for  the  kits  to  get  in  at  the  door. 

>X..  '    IjB'i .-'  I 

IV. 

So  puss-in-the-corner  they  silently  sat, 
And  waited  awhile  for  the  mice  to  grow  fat. 

v. 
"Who  comes?"  cried  a  beautiful  mouse,  at 

her  cheese. 
The  kittens  replied,    "We  are  rats,  if  you 

please." 

VI. 

"  Not  rats  !  "  said  the  nibbler  ;  "  your  paws 

are  not  pink, 
Your  eyes  are  too  big,  and  your  tails  have  a 

kink !  " 


172  THE  HUNGRT  KITTENS. 


VII. 

"  Come  out !  "  quoth  the  kits,  "  and  our  tails 

and  our  eyes 
Will  then  look  exactly  the  natural  size! 

VIII. 

"  Sweet  mouse !  we  invite  you  to  go  to  the 

fair, 
And  you  shall  have  plenty  of  combs  in  your 

hair ! " 


IX. 

The   mouse   said,    "  Excuse    me,   for   I   am 

engaged ! " 
At   which     the    two    kittens    grew    fiercely 

enraged. 


THE  HUNGRY  KITTENS.  173 


They  flew  at   the   mouse-hole,  they  awfully 

squalled, 
They  fought  one  another,  they  tumbled,  they 

sprawled, 

XI. 

They  twisted  their  whiskers,  they  tangled 
their  tails  — 

Then,  scat!  how  they  scampered  to  milk- 
pans  and  pails ! 

XII. 

The   mice   and    the    kittens   no   longer    are 

friends ; 
Which  every  one  knows  —  so  the  story  here 

ends! 


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